Delphine's pulse pounded as the doors locked.
It was subtle—just the quiet click of the mechanism sealing her in—but the weight of it pressed into her chest like a lead brick.
"Bumblebee."
His only response was the deep, slow rumble of his engine. It wasn't aggressive. It wasn't threatening. But it was final.
A claim.
A warning.
Delphine's fingers flexed against the leather seat. She wasn't the kind of girl to get claimed. She belonged to no one. Not anymore.
Her breath came sharp, measured. "You need to let me out."
The dashboard lights flickered. His radio whined through static, searching, shifting, until his reply filtered through in a quiet, controlled murmur.
"No."
Heat flared in her chest—equal parts frustration and something darker, something she didn't want to name.
She turned toward the dashboard, glaring at the damn car like it could actually feel it. "Bee, I'm serious. Unlock the doors."
A hum. "Not leaving."
Her jaw tightened. "This isn't funny."
Another low growl vibrated through the cabin—this one closer to a warning.
Delphine stiffened.
Her fingers curled against her jeans, nails pressing into her skin. "You don't get to keep me here."
A flicker of static. A voice—his voice, raw and layered through the speakers, but real this time.
"Don't want you running."
Something inside her twisted.
Because this wasn't just possessiveness.
It was fear.
Not fear of her.
Fear of losing her.
Her throat tightened. "Bee…"
His engine thrummed again, deep and slow. His frame shifted, the vents releasing a quiet, deliberate exhale.
"Mine."
Her breath hitched.
The word wasn't forceful.
It was soft. Certain. Undeniable.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Because if he had demanded, if he had tried to force it, she could have fought. She could have resisted, pushed back, set rules, made it clear that this wasn't how things worked.
But he didn't.
He just… waited.
Like she would figure it out on her own.
Like he already knew what she wasn't ready to admit.
Delphine's head fell back against the seat, and she exhaled sharply, her pulse still racing. "You're impossible."
The tension in the air shifted. His engine purred—satisfied.
And the worst part?
She let him get away with it.
Thirty Minutes Later
Delphine should have left the second the doors unlocked.
She should have thrown them open and walked away without a word.
But she didn't.
Because even after the tension, after the possessiveness, after everything—
She still felt safer inside Bumblebee than anywhere else.
And that scared her more than anything.
She sighed, rubbing her temples. "You're really not gonna back off, are you?"
The dashboard lights flickered. The radio crackled, shifting through static before settling on a slow, deliberate hum.
"No."
Of course not.
Her fingers tapped against her knee. "Fine. But we're setting some rules."
Silence.
Then, a deep, considering hum.
"First," she started, glancing toward the dashboard. "You don't get to just… show up at my job and scare people off."
A slow rev of the engine—not quite agreement, but not outright refusal.
She narrowed her eyes. "Bee."
The radio crackled. "Didn't like him."
Delphine huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You don't have to like him. That's not the point."
Another hum. Then, softer—"Watched you."
A shiver crawled down her spine.
The way he said it. Like it was a violation. Like Drew had already crossed a line just by looking at her.
She exhaled slowly. "Bee, I talk to people. That doesn't mean they're a threat."
Silence.
Then—
"Threat to me."
Her stomach twisted.
Not because he sounded angry.
But because he sounded… certain.
Like he had already decided this was his fight.
Her fight.
Their fight.
She licked her lips. "Okay, well, new rule: You don't get to claim me like some kind of—"
The dashboard lights pulsed. "Already did."
Heat flared in her chest.
She knew he wasn't just talking about tonight.
She swallowed hard. "That's not how this works."
A deep, slow hum rumbled through the cabin.
"For Cybertronians, it is."
Delphine stiffened.
Her breath caught in her throat. "What?"
His vents exhaled again, a deliberate shift, like he was choosing his next words carefully.
Then, his voice—low, steady, unshakable.
"I chose you."
Her pulse jumped.
She clenched her fists, forcing herself to breathe. "That's insane."
"Truth."
She shook her head. "You don't even—"
The seatbelt tightened against her waist—just enough to make her feel it.
His presence. His claim.
Then, softer this time—"Say you don't feel it."
Delphine's stomach flipped.
She couldn't.
Because the truth—the thing she didn't want to admit, the thing she had been running from since the moment she laid eyes on him—
Was that she did feel it.
Every inch of it.
And she had no idea what to do about that.